The City and the World and Other Stories eBook

The Cross was close to him now. With his new
spiritual vision he saw that in form it was One like
himself, but One with eyes that were soft and mild
and full of tenderness, with arms outstretched and
nail-prints like glittering gems upon them, with a
wounded side and out from it a flood pouring which
cooled the parched sands, so that from them the flowers
sprang up, full panoplied in color, form and beauty,
and sweetly smelling. Around The Flaming Cross
fluttered countless wings, and childish voices made
melody, soft and harmonious beyond all compare.
All else that Orville ever knew vanished before the
glance of the Beloved; faces and forms dearest and
nearest, old haunts and older affections, all were
melted into this One Great Love that is Eternal.
The outstretched arms were wrapped around them.
The blood from the wounded side washed all their pains
from them. On their foreheads fell the Kiss of
Peace, and Orville and Michael had come home.

THE VICAR-GENERAL

The Vicar-General was dead. With his long, white
hair smoothed back, he lay upon a silk pillow, his
hands clasped over a chalice upon his breast.
He was clad in priestly vestments; and he looked, as
he lay in his coffin before the great altar with the
candles burning on it, as if he were just ready to
arise and begin a new "Introibo" in Heaven.
The bells of the church wherein the Vicar-General lay
asleep had called his people all the morning in a
sad and solemn tolling. The people had come,
as sad and solemn as the bells. They were gathered
about the bier of their pastor. Priests from far
and near had chanted the Office of the Dead; the Requiem
Mass was over, and the venerable chief of the diocese,
the Bishop himself, stood in cope and mitre, to give
the last Absolution.

[Illustration: “The Bishop himself stood
in cope and mitre to give the last absolution.”]

The Bishop had loved the Vicar-General—­had
loved him as a brother. For was it not the Vicar-General
who had bidden His Lordship welcome, when he came
from his distant parish to take up the cares of a
diocese. With all the timidity of a stranger,
the Bishop had feared; but the Vicar-General guided
his steps safely and well. Now the Bishop, gazing
at the white, venerable face, remembered—­and
wept. In the midst of the Absolution, his voice
broke. Priests bit their lips, as their eyes
filled with hot tears; but the Sisters who taught in
the parochial school and their little charges, did
not attempt to keep back their sobs. For others
than the Bishop loved the Vicar-General.